With Wright's help, Renly's pressure in the battle decreased instantly, even leaving him time to speak.
After parrying the ice swords slashing at him, Renly quickly retreated to repair the broken ice armor on his body. "Wright, someone is using magic to control these White Walkers!"
"I've noticed that too!"
Renly's swordsmanship were among the top ten on the continent, and Wright's strength was several times greater than his. Many of his fighting techniques would be impossible without the use of magic.
With a single swing, Wright severed the White Walker's sword arm, then kicked it under the chin. As the White Walker flew through the air, Wright closed in, grabbed its foot by the ankle, and swung it, using its body as both a weapon and a shield.
With their anger already spent, the two seemed to handle the siege of over a dozen White Walkers with ease. White Walkers could unleash immense strength in a short time, and when combined with ice magic, they were difficult for ordinary people to deal with. However, compared to the demons Wright and Renly had fought in the Oblivion Realm, the White Walkers had weaknesses—Fire and Valyrian steel—that made it easy for the two to exploit and strike a fatal blow.
A massive wall of fire, still burning, stood tall. At this point, the Gold Cloaks, Balon's personal guard, and the Vale Knights had also arrived.
The Vale cavalry swiftly flanked the fire wall in a circular formation, setting up a defensive stance.
The Gold Cloaks had taken over the task of protecting the prince and Sauron from the Northmen. Wright's personal guard formed a tight circle around the two.
Inside the fire wall, Wright stood with one foot on a White Walker's torso, which was now only half intact. No matter how the White Walkerstruggled, it couldn't move the leg pressing down on its back. Wright held another White Walker by the ankle, its body covered in magical runes.
As he searched for the source of the magic controlling the White Walkers, Wright took the opportunity to catch his breath and recover his strength.
"There, to the northwest!" Wright pointed in the direction.
"Hiss~" Wright pulled the massive sword from the ground, slowly driving the tip into the wight beneath his foot, following the direction of its lower leg.
Breathing heavily, Renly looked down at the White Walkers under his feet and asked, "Do I need to keep these two alive?"
"Kill them! Just use the one in my hand," Wright replied.
Renly, also standing over two still-living White Walkers, raised his longsword and swiftly cut off their heads. Within seconds, the heads turned to chunks of ice.
The towering fire wall suddenly shrank, and two skeleton horses leapt out of the flames, charging toward the northwest.
"It's King Renly and Wright. Follow them!"
Denys Arryn swung his longsword, and the eight thousand Vale cavalry quickly regrouped, thundering behind the skeleton horses as they headed northwest.
"Half of the guard stay alert, the other half rest here!" Wright ordered.
Wright never liked to take others with him into battle; he only needed to appear within their sight to give his brothers a chance to perform. After directing his men, Balon walked over to the gold-armored giant sitting on the ground.
"Ellios, aren't you coming?"
"I can't move. You'll have to get someone to carry me back later," Ellios Chiheda, helmet off, his silver-gold hair wet and hanging down, let out steam in the cold air.
The bulldozer-like gold-armored warrior had collapsed. The magical enhancements to his armor and Valyrian steel weapons had granted immense attack power and defense, but the side effects were clear—his magic and physical strength were rapidly drained. Now, this heavy armor weighed down on Ellios so much that he couldn't even get up.
Balon crouched down and tapped the armor with his gauntlet, making a clinking sound. "You look fierce, but it's not sustainable, huh?"
"Heh." Ellios chuckled before collapsing into the snow with a thud. His golden hair fanned out on the snow, emitting steam as his body ached so much he couldn't move even a finger.
The personal guard, all clad in heavy armor and wielding long-handled axes, stood by. Ellios was a noble, so they couldn't just take his armor off on the battlefield. After a moment of thinking, Balon stood up and shouted, "Someone get a cart from the fortress. We can't carry him."
With the king and Wright still absent, some of the Gold Cloaks, under Jon's command, began dragging the dead Northmen into a pile.
The enemies of the war were White Walkers and corpses. The Northmen, still wearing their armor and carrying their wealth, would soon be collected by the nobles' burial crews.
The Gold Cloaks were now arranging the bodies on the ground, each of them holding an obsidian dagger. They stabbed the corpses chests, aiming for their necks if they were wearing armor.
The obsidian daggers would leave behind faint magical fire for several days, effectively preventing the White Walkers from reanimating. However, once the magic wore off, the bodies had to be burned, or the burial grounds would turn into wight camps.
---
A few low-ranking vampires scattered and fled.
Renly called for the dragon to chase the farthest enemy, while he and Wright tracked down and killed a few, capturing two alive.
"Who is your leader?"
Wright severed the opponent's limbs, beginning the interrogation as the enemy trembled in fear.
"The fastest one to escape is our leader!"
"Is it this one?" Wright pointed to the vampire wriggling beneath Renly's feet.
"No!"
Wright placed his sword on the vampire's heart. "Do you have a name?"
"Ah~~~ Zit, they all call me Leech. We are a scouting squad, nine Blood Knights and twenty-one Frost Knights in total. Our leader is Jeoff Flowers, he borrowed a lot of our blood food and hasn't returned it. He also has three close women!"
Wright turned to Renly, who always got everyone to confess under pressure, and seemed to know a lot. It was decided that he would be the one to interrogate this one.
Renly nodded in agreement, then asked Leech, "Which direction did your leader escape?"
"The north!" the vampire answered.
Renly held up his finger and gestured to Wright. "We each killed three vampires. My dragon burned three. That's it, the leader is now ash."
Wright replied, "Then leave the one you're holding. After the interrogation, we'll perform a grand ritual. You will preside over the ceremony to honor the fallen warriors."
"Form up, prepare to meet the King!"
Jon saw two skeleton horses charge out of the forest in the distance, followed by an endless line of Valley Knights.
Wright and Renly's horses still carried two living bodies that jerked with every movement of the horses, blood dripping along the snow, leaving a trail behind them.
"Regroup and head back to the keep!" Renly waved at Jon, signaling for him to dismiss the welcome party.
After such a fierce battle, it was not the time for high celebrations. Jon, fulfilling his duties, was not inconvenienced by Renly's request, only urged to quickly regroup and retreat.
"Father!" Sauron came up to Wright.
Wright looked at the unscathed Sauron and said coldly, "We'll talk later."
Children around the age of ten could already be found working the land, apprenticing to craftsmen, or serving as pages to knights in this world, and they were never absent from wars. These young ones might be there to make up numbers or were sent to fight by desperate lords.
Lyonel and Sauron, both of noble birth, had lived high above the rest since they were young, respected wherever they went. They had the best education, and their father, the strongest magician, had ensured that they both had a vast mastery of magic far beyond their peers.
Every young person wanted to prove themselves. They were not necessarily after wealth or power, but just a word of praise from their parents. Wright, who had fought in the Iron Islands war when he was young, didn't want to dwell too much on the fact that they had disobeyed orders to join the fight.
Wright's real concern was that, though their mastery of magic could slightly turn the tide, their age and limited magical energy meant their overall impact on the war was minimal. Meanwhile, the Northmen had paid a heavy price to protect them. It was a debt that Wright and Renly would have to repay.
---
The vast and boundless forest had raised brave warriors from the North.
Tall black pines towered, and wolves ran through the woods.
In the biting cold, over a thousand warriors from the Northern mountain tribes gathered together, banging their weapons on their shields in rhythm, singing a song called "Wolves of the Mountain".
House Stark often sent mediators to settle disputes among the northern clans. These tribes had no written language, so they recorded every important event in songs passed down orally.
In the clearing south of the Moat Cailin, more than three thousand fallen soldiers lay side by side, arms crossed on their chests, quietly awaiting farewell from their family and friends.
The armor and weapons they once used would be passed down to their sons. If they had no sons, they would be given as dowries to their daughters. Those who were unmarried or without children would have their gear reclaimed by their families or the lord.
Four giant dragons circled above, while tens of thousands of knights formed neat squads below. They polished their armor until it gleamed, holding their lances and swords high to honor the brave Northmen warriors.
Boom! Boom! Boom! The war drums were sounded.
The warriors marched to the sound of the drums. The battle musicians, caught off guard by the sudden onset, had no time to organize and participate. This time, several hundred musicians played the drums in perfect unison.
The Skinchanger mages temporarily acted as guides for the dead. Some of them might only be skilled in magic and not familiar with death rituals, but as representatives of the ancestors, the Shapeshifters led their animals past each fallen warrior. With their magic, they caused branches to sprout green leaves in the cold of winter, gently brushing over the warriors' heads, praying that their sacrifice would bring the spring.
Ellios Chiheda also donned full armor and took the dragon-head necklace from his neck, fastening it to the chest of his armor. He represented the Dragon Cult, performing a ritual for the North's noble families who followed the faith of the Dragon Cult.
This was a collective funeral for the Northmen. They did not believe in the Seven, so the priests accompanying the troops from the Riverlands and the Vale could only stand quietly by as observers. Even though they strongly disagreed, they dared not speak out.
Many years ago, after the Great Sparrow incident, unfavorable opinions about the Seven spread throughout the Seven Kingdoms, especially under the control of Wright and Renly.
Now, aside from the North, those who followed the Dragon Cult were on par in number with those who worshiped the Seven. However, most of the followers of the Dragon Cult were young people, without lands or power, and thus could not accomplish much. In many places, they couldn't even build a temple.
The nobles, led by Renly, stood together. Knights and soldiers formed a neat formation, and the entire funeral was simple, solemn, and respectful.
"Bran, is this the outcome you foresaw?" Robb asked his only remaining brother, who was seated next to him.
"Eddard's fate was altered, and he had a happy life, but death's fate still surrounded him," Bran replied, not lifting his head to look at Robb, instead staring at Eddard's body and speaking vaguely.
"Three-Eyed Raven, then what about me, Jon, Sansa, Arya, and Rickon?" Robb changed his words, never again speaking Bran's name.
Bran spoke calmly, "If I told you that you should have been killed more than ten years ago, your head severed from your body, would you believe me?"
"No!" Robb didn't look at Bran anymore, his gaze fixed on their father's body. "Even in death, I only believe I'll die fighting the Others!"
"Prophecies are just fragments of history and the future, not the full truth of all things. That's why you're still alive."
The roar of a dragon echoed through the air, and Wright and Renly slowly walked toward the fallen Northmen. Bran, too, began to push his wheelchair away from Robb.
"Overcome fear and regret, and you will see your true self."
Sauron turned and saw the tall Balon and Quaithe behind him. Quaithe was a woman, while Balon's voice was rough; the voice from earlier clearly belonged to a young man.
"Turn your unwillingness into strength."
"Balon, did you hear that?" The voice reached his ears again, and this time, Sauron was certain it came from Balon. But Balon had not spoken. Unless he could speak with his stomach and make his voice sound younger.
Balon shook his head.
Quaithe reached out and squeezed Sauron's shoulder, gently guiding his body toward the direction of the funeral.
After this event, Prince Lyonel and Sauron had been confined to their quarters. After the funeral, they would return to King's Landing and Tyrosh.
As Sauron looked at the thousands of fallen Northmen, he began to ponder.
What the prince was thinking, Sauron didn't know, but Sauron had certainly felt fear during the wild beast attack. Especially when dozens of ice spears were shot at him; that near-death feeling nearly suffocated him, and ever since, he had not been able to sleep.
After Wright and Renly's counseling, the two of them had improved significantly. At this moment, Sauron thought of the big guy, Little Jon. It was solely because of his noble status that the Northmen, soldiers, and knights fought to protect him with their lives, yet he could not do anything for them—not even cast a simple defensive spell.
The Others' target was himself and the prince, and they had been dragged into this by him. Sauron clenched his fist, looking at the distant bodies of the Northmen. Guilt and self-blame surged within him.
Power!
If I had the immense magical power of King Renly, if I could reach the level of my father, Wright, whose magic and vitality were like the sun in magical detection, then I could save them, lead them to victory instead of attending their funerals, and perhaps even find my missing mother.
"But by the time I turn sixteen, it will be at least six more years. By then, this war will either have been won or lost by humanity, and I won't be able to help! And my mother, Tyene, whose fate is still uncertain... How can I quickly gain power?" Sauron kept thinking.
"Go find your brother!" The voice reached Sauron's ears again.
"Three-Eyed Raven, is that you?" His father, Wright, and Renly were not far off. Only the Three-Eyed Raven could make the voice travel this far.
"Go find your brother. He is waiting for you." The voice neither denied nor confirmed, but Sauron was sure it was Bran, having heard his voice before.
Sauron did not turn around. He took a step sideways and leaned against a soft body behind him, speaking in a barely audible voice, "Quaithe, let's go to Sunspear."
A pair of soft hands reached up from behind and gently touched Sauron's face. He knew that Quaithe had agreed to go with him.
Except for when he was a child, when Quaithe helped with his diapers, she never interfered with his actions as he grew older. It was Wright, Tyene, and Nymeria who had raised Sauron, and it was Wright's teachings that guided Sauron's decisions. Quaithe's role was simply to support every choice Sauron made.